About once a month, Amylynn and I have a conversation about the fact that she is insane. She denies this and I bring up example after example of her craziness. This conversation always starts over the fact that she can’t post on the blog one night and I’m either too busy or don’t have a topic. Tonight, I’m just too busy. Making 48 chocolate butterflies for a
party is not quick or easy and after I leave Bank of No Forks, that’s what I’ll be doing for the next 3 or 4 days. After I inform her that the blog world can do without us for an evening – I hear this from her office:
Amylynn – (aggravated deep heavy dramatic sigh) I’ll come up with something.
Me – Really. (Not really with a question mark but really like you’re nuts and you need to stop your craziness before I call the authorities – that REALLY)
Amylynn – Really (Not really with a question mark or really like I’m nuts and I need to stop my craziness before you call the authorities but the really that says you’re letting me down and I’ll just do it myself – that REALLY)
So, to help out, here’s tonight’s blog:
****Note from Amylynn….
I might be crazy, it’s true. In fact, it’s probable. I come from a long line of crazy and I surround myself with crazies. I suffer from delusions that the seven people who read this blog will be angry that there isn’t a post when they expect one and will thus abandon the ritual of coming here to read my nonsense and then I’ll be down to six or five faithful readers.
Panic sets in.
I’m totally crazy. The people in my head are nodding emphatically.
Just So You Know . . . everybody was kung foo fighting, except the Quill Sisters, the Quill Sisters do NOT kung foo fight.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . it’s ok for you to threaten your husband with a Jedi light saber, it’s NOT ok for him to laugh at you when you make the light saber “noise”.
I’m reading one of my favorite authors this week – Jennifer Ashley and her 4th book in the Highlanders series. I just love her writing. Outstanding.
But I gush.
This series takes place in Victorian England (1837-1901). Whenever I think of Victorian Engand I immediately think of the fashion. And the stern look of that queen. Man, she looked like a corker didn’t she? Fun at parties, I’ll bet. The first person I’d pick for my team in a breathless game of Victorian charades. Or beer pong. She’d totally rock at beer pong.
But back to the fashion. Women’s Victorian fashion was totally dominated by bustles. As I’m reading this book, every once in a while a bustle is mentioned and I’m drawn to wonder.
Why the bustle? Why?
So I Googled it.
The bustle seems to actually have logically evolved from the extreme hoops that came before it. First, there were giant bell skirts which morphed into elliptical hoops and then those crazy fashionistas just piled all the fabric on their rear ends. There seems to be some speculation that the fashion was driven by the desire to have more ornamented skirts thus more yardage. Also, that the bustle was much more practical than a hoop skirt.
I agree that walking around in a giant hoop would be a nightmare. How the hell those women got through doorways and then carriages, I have no idea. But really, I don’t see that sitting in one of those extreme bustles would be that comfortable either. There was a full on cage involved with a bustle.
What did they do? Tuck the chair underneath the bustle? Shit, the size of some of those bustles they could have had a chair hidden under there the whole time and who would have known?
I shudder to think about using the ladies retiring room. That’s the polite term for the potty in historical speak.
Still, I can’t help but wonder what the Victorian ladies were thinking by loading up their rear ends so they looked enormous. I can’t imagine that ladies were that much different then than they are today. No woman wants her ass to be huge.
I guarantee a man was involved with this ridiculousness.
So now it occurs to me that a bustle could be quite useful. Think of the things you could hide under there. A panda bear for certain. A person could become quite a smuggler with that kind of room. What else could you do with a bustle? Turn it into your own traveling wifi? **Gasp** Maybe an espresso maker? Now you’re talking?
In Our Humble Opinion . . . if there were going to be a zombie apocalypse, it would definitely start in FL.
Just So You Know . . . it’s going to be over 100 by the end of the week, you better get going on the margarita fixins and the pool floatees right away.
I don’t even have a particularly apt story for it either, which would be very gratifying since I am a blogger, but no. Sometimes the inspiration appears but my life won’t cooperate. That’s really a pain, especially in this instance since I am bombarded with stupidity ALL THE TIME.
Well, to be fair, it’s not always stupidity. Often times it’s just incompetence.
We all know people who would never make it through the day, let alone their lives, if the rest of us weren’t out there making sure they don’t blow dry their hair in the bathtub or some other idiotic nonsense.
I say we do as an old friend used to say, let’s chlorinate the gene pool.
Guess what we did at the Bright Compound this weekend. Nothing. Isn’t that fabulous! My birthday present to my brother was to take my father for the extended weekend so he could go to the lake.
That went pretty smoothly with nothing unusual to tell about until this morning. One of the things that has most changed with my father since his stroke is that his judgement has been seriously compromised. On that note, I stayed up very late the night before and was truly looking forward to a morning of sleeping in. At eight o’clock Sassy came to wake me up. My father planned to put Sassy on her bicycle and send her up to the convenience store to purchase him some cigarettes.
Go ahead and roll your eyes. I certainly did.
If you are not completely aware, here are a few of the issues with his plan.
#1. Sassy is nine not nineteen. Arizona has some truly crazy rules but purchasing cigarettes – even with a note from her grandfather – is not permissible at nine.
#2. Sassy doesn’t know how to ride her bicycle. Our one foray into teaching her to ride sans training wheels ended in tears. None of them mine, I assure you.
#3. Are you freaking kidding me?
Much to Sassy’s relief, I said most emphatically, “No!”
When I got to the living room, he was putting on his shoes and intended to walk up there himself. I angrily told him to get in the car. When I drove him up the street and around the corner, he was quite surprised. He admitted he didn’t even really know where the store was. I know that he would most certainly have gotten lost. I can’t even imagine how I would have explained that to my brother, but I am certain he would not have been amused.
There was still some fun to be had this weekend. As evidence I give you this.
Sassy became completely enamored of the mustaches and eyebrows. So much so that I was genuinely becoming concerned that she was planning to keep them on when I took her to camp tomorrow.
This was her six hours later. She’d finally lost the mustache but the eyebrows were taking root. She has since tucked all three strips of hair into her purse for safe keeping. I hardly know what to think of that. Is she planning a career of cross dressing? Bank robbery? Does she plan to start Charlie Chaplin impersonations?
My father did note how weird it was to kiss Groucho Marx good night.
And lastly, this is the other thing we did a lot of over the weekend.
All in all, it was a very relaxing weekend – even as I got sicker and sicker with these damn allergies. At this point, I’m probably the sexiest I’ve ever been because I’ve taken to wadding up Kleenex and shoving it in my nose to staunch the flow of snot. I’m certain I’ve contracted Legionnaires disease by now and shortly Ava and Kelli will be telling you of my funeral services.
What did you do over the long weekend? Was it a weekend of barbeques and fireworks and parades? Or did you hole up under the a/c vents or spend hours submerged in the pool? Or like me are your allergies making your life miserable?
Except the mall, of course. And the movie theaters. And restaurants. And theme parks.
Whatever, The Quill Sisters will be back to snark again tomorrow.
What are you going to do with your day off? Please tell us you had one. You did right? Is your boss so awful? Oh, we get it. You’re in the service industry, right? You people never the day off. We’re sorry. We’ll leave a good tip.